A Friend Indeed
by OhioOwl
Summary: Sergeant Garcia finds himself performing escort duty under some very unusual circumstances.
1. Problem

A Friend Indeed  
1 - _Problem_

 **Chapter 1: Problem**

 **A/N:** I have for some time wanted to write a story for Sergeant Garcia. So here is his adventure, which takes place eight months after _A Hero's Heartache_. Zorro does not appear — because it's very difficult for anyone else to be the hero when Zorro is around — but Diego shows up in the end.

I hope I have done Henry Calvin justice.

 _Camarero_ means "steward" in Spanish.

 _Cocinera_ means "cook" in Spanish.

Margarita De la Vega heaved herself out of her chair and started across the _sala_. The sounds of an argument were coming from the kitchen. Rosa and Arturo were going at each other like a couple of angry cats and their voices were getting louder by the minute. Growing increasingly heavy with child, Margarita made her way slowly, occasionally placing her hand on the wall or a piece of furniture to help keep her balance. This child, their sixth, was somehow different. She felt more fatigued than she had with the others. Her appetite was unsteady at times. Her feet and legs ached more than usual. By her reckoning she had another month of this to endure, and it was not a happy prospect.

Still, she thought, she could not really complain. Five successful births, five healthy children living on a _rancho_ that easily provided for all of them — many women were not as fortunate. Diego had been more than understanding about the process of childbearing, and every announcement of an addition to the family had sent Don Alejandro into a state of sheer delight. _Bless them both_ , she sighed. This was all very well and good, but right now she needed to see what all the shouting was about.

"Señor _camarero_ , it is only five days before _Noche Buena_ and my preparations are far from complete. I have much more baking to do, and I cannot bake without flour!" This was Rosa.

"Señora _cocinera_ , I know very well that it is only five days before _Noche Buena_ and I also know that right now I have everyone that I can spare out gathering greenery to decorate the _hacienda_ so I have no one to send to the pueblo for more flour!" This was Arturo.

"I am not a miracle worker! Do you expect me to make buñuelos and _dulce de leche_ out of air? I need my flour!"

"I am sure the patrona will understand if —."

"The patrona," interrupted Margarita, finally reaching the kitchen doorway, "would like less shouting and more calm explaining." This silenced them both.

"Señora, I can go no farther without more flour! There remains only half a sack and I have much more to do so I cannot afford a long delay. Order _him_ ," she shot Arturo a death stare, "to send to the pueblo immediately," she pleaded.

"Señora," replied Arturo, returning Rosa's glare, " _she_ obviously does not understand that I would gladly do so if I only had someone to send. I, too, have much to prepare and except for the vaqueros who are tending the cattle everyone else is occupied."

Well, at least both of them made sense, which was a step in the right direction.

The possibilities were limited. Her first thought would have been to ask Diego. She knew that in a pinch her husband was willing to run errands that most dons would consider absolutely beneath them. It was one of the many things she loved about him. But he and Bernardo and Don Alejandro had gone to San Pedro on business and were spending the night there. And as Arturo had said, all of the servants were busy with other preparations.

"Very well," sighed the Doña De la Vega, "since I have nothing better to do than sit around like a lump, I will go into the pueblo." She turned to Arturo: "Have the buggy brought around to the patio gate."

Rosa's eyes grew wide in alarm. "Señora, your condition! You cannot ride out! You cannot be seen in your condition!

"I'm tired of being cooped up here, idle all day. I want some fresh air! I promise to drive the buggy very slowly.

"But Don Diego will not like this," protested Arturo.

"Don Diego isn't here," she replied crisply.

"You cannot lift sacks of flour!" added the steward.

"I have no intention of lifting anything. I'm sure someone at Senor Avila's store will load them for me. I might not even have to get down from the buggy. So tell me, Rosa, how much flour do you need?" Rosa just looked at her, still alarmed. "Rosa?" she repeated, a slight edge to her voice.

"Three sacks," declared the cook reluctantly, now eyeing Arturo as an ally instead of an adversary.

"Arturo, will the buggy hold that much?"

"Si, Señora, it will, but —"

"Very well, three sacks it is." Margarita nodded briskly to indicate that the subject was closed. "Now would one of you ask Buena to bring me a shawl?"

Half an hour later Arturo helped her into the buggy, a look of near panic on his face. "Señora, I beg of you — "

"I'll be fine," she declared as she picked up the reins and turned the buggy away from the hacienda.

The day was rather overcast, with a very warm breeze blowing in from the west. She kept the mule to a nice leisurely walk, and headed down the road to Los Angeles.


	2. Solution

A Friend Indeed  
2 – _Solution?_

 **Chapter 2: Solution?**

Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia was enjoying the final days of his first leave in two years. He had spent a happy week visiting a distant cousin in San Luis Rey and was returning to Los Angeles at a leisurely pace. He had almost gotten used to dressing in civilian clothing, especially since his cousin's wife had made him not one but two new shirts. He was wearing one now, and its freshness made him feel slightly elegant in the bright morning light.

But alas, when he reached the pueblo he would return to his much-patched uniform blouse and trousers. He would also have to deal with whatever disasters had befallen in his absence. There were only two corporals in the garrison: Reyes and Morales. Morales was more sensible but Reyes had seniority, so with great trepidation Garcia had left Reyes in charge. Now he hoped that decision would not come back to haunt him too badly. The last time Reyes had been left in charge he had arrested a goat that had wandered into the _cuartel_ and made itself at home munching the stable hay. Reyes explained that he had arrested the animal for "stealing military supplies".

The road from El Camino Real to Los Angeles was in fair condition, and the sergeant had been enjoying his calm and solitary journey. Now he noticed two things: the wind from the west was becoming stronger and much warmer, and he was approaching a very slow buggy ahead on the road. _Someone is in no hurry to get somewhere_ , he mused to himself. After perhaps ten minutes he came abreast of the buggy and greeted its driver.

"Señora De la Vega," he began. Then he remembered her 'indisposition'. "Señora De la Vega!" he cried, eyes wide in disbelief, "whatever are you doing out here all alone?"

"Try not to be too scandalized, Sergeant," she answered. "The De la Vega kitchen is having a crisis of flour, and I am the only one who can ride — she glanced at the mule — or should I say drive to the rescue." She observed the puzzled look on the lancer's face, then added: "Rosa is running out of flour and everyone else is busy with preparations for _Nocha Buena_. All I have to do is drive very slowly into the pueblo, have Senor Avila load three sacks of flour into the buggy, and drive very slowly back to the _hacienda_. I don't think I'll even have to get out of the buggy."

Garcia's eyes were still as big as saucers. "Does Don Diego know you are doing this?"

"Don Diego and his father are down in San Pedro, arranging for the loading of the latest shipment of hides. But don't worry, I know how to drive the buggy. I've managed this far, haven't I?"

Still, he was ill at ease. This was Alta California, not somewhere barbaric like — er — Scotland. A distinguish doña should not be reduced to driving herself around like a peon. And what would his good friend Don Diego say if he found out that he, Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, acting _comandante_ of the Pueblo de Los Angeles, had found Doña Margarita in such circumstances and failed to render assistance? Why, very likely, Don Diego would never buy him a glass of wine ever again! There was only one thing the lancer could do.

"Señora, I can see that you are determined to do this, but I must insist that you let me drive you! Er — please?"

Margarita was well aware of Sergeant Garcia' good nature, and also aware that for some reason the open countryside was beginning to cause her feel a bit anxious. Perhaps it would be best to let him drive the buggy. "Very well, Sergeant. You may drive me if you wish."

He dismounted and walked his horse around to the back of the buggy to tie it on. As he came back around to the side, the strongest gust of wind yet blew his hat onto his back. Only the latchstrings saved it from being lost in the scrubland. When he climbed up into the buggy — his weight tilting it so far toward him that she had to grasp her side of it to keep from flopping over onto him — he noticed that the sun had disappeared and a dull grey-brown haze was looming on the horizon. He began to wonder if they were in for a spell of _El Niño_. As he took the reins he looked at her. "Are you sure you don't want to go back to your _hacienda_?"

"Onward, my gallant Sergeant," she declared, pointing straight ahead toward the pueblo. He slapped the reins on the mule's back and they moved on.

They ambled another half-mile or so down the road. All the while the wind continued to gust strongly across the landscape. Garcia wondered if he should begin to hurry the mules, and if it would even be safe to do so. He tried to hide his concern with conversation. "Are you sure Don Alejandro and Don Diego will be back tomorrow?"

"Oh yes. They just wanted to supervise the loading of the hides, which is supposed to take the greater part of today. They simply didn't want to ride back to Los Angeles in the —." She felt a familiar tightness in her belly and pressed her lips together. The lancer looked at her in some alarm.

"Señora? Are you all right?"

After a moment she said, "I'm fine". She turned to him. "Don't worry, this is normal. I've experienced it many times before." She closed her eyes and turned away from the next gust of wind, which was beginning to kick up a good deal of dust.

"With such a large family I suppose you have," he observed pleasantly. "Perhaps it is forward of me to say so, but we in the _cuartel_ are very happy to see Don Diego so well settled and so happy himself. Especially after all that happened with Capitán Mon — uh, well —a long time ago. The pueblo has been so peaceful lately. We have not even seen Zorro for several months." A look of concern crossed Garcia's face. "I hope he has not left us!"

"Who? My husband?"

"No, Señora. El Zorro. I know he is an outlaw and that it is still my duty to capture him. And of course to collect the two-thousand peso reward. But I must admit that he has appeared and brought justice at some very lucky times. Lucky for us, I mean. I think that I would not like to think of the pueblo without Zorro."

"I wouldn't worry, Sergeant. I have a feeling that somehow Zorro will always be there when he is needed" she replied, smiling inwardly.

Garcia shook his head. "And I have always wondered how it is that he knows exactly when and where he is needed. He must have a great many spies in the pueblo, but everywhere I look I see only ordinary people like innkeeper Pacheco and my lancers and your _muzo_ , the Little One."

"It is indeed a great mystery. I suppose we will never know — OH!" This time the tightening was much stronger. She had just let out her breath when she felt wetness on her thighs. _Oh no!_ she thought. _It's too soon!_ Totally taken by surprise and a little alarmed at their location, she looked at Garcia and said: "Sergeant, the baby is coming."


	3. Refuge

A Friend Indeed  
3 - _Refuge_

 **Chapter 3: Refuge**

"Señora, what do you want to do?" asked Garcia.

"Which is closer, Sergeant? The _hacienda_ or the pueblo?"

"As near as I can tell, we are about half way between them so it does not matter." The wind was getting worse and kicking up more dust and sand.

Margarita hesitated, then looked back down the road. That way was the _hacienda_ , with her own bed and Cresencia and the women servants. Then she looked ahead toward the pueblo. That way was Doctor Avila and medical attention. Then she looked back again. Then she looked ahead again. Somehow she could not think. "I — I don't know what I want to do."

The sergeant looked to the western horizon. The grayish-brownish haze was now a great cloud hanging over the hills. Finally Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia decided it was time to take charge. He slapped the reins hard and guided the buggy down a track off to the left.

"What are you doing?" Margarita asked, now cradling her belly. "Where are we going?"

"To Senor Milanes' windmill."

"A windmill, here?"

" _Sí_ , Señora. Don Alfredo owns a fine piece of land just down this track. But it is low-lying and floods often in the spring. So he built a windmill to pump out the water so his cattle do not drown."

"But why are we going there?"

He tried to sound casual. "Because there is a very bad windstorm coming, and we do not have time to make it to either the pueblo or back to your _hacienda_."

"Is it in any kind of repair?' she asked, not at all sure that a windmill sounded like a place of shelter.

"Oh _sí_! A man stays there for at least three months every year so it is fitted out for living!"

She did not find his response especially encouraging. The word "living" covered a multitude of circumstances. But at this moment it was of paramount importance to get out of the wind. So she held on to the buggy and tried to breathe deeply. True to the sergeant's word, they pulled up to a large structure in just a few minutes. Garcia climbed down from the buggy, then walked over to the door, and pushed it. When it opened easily, Margarita breathed a sigh of relief and began to move toward the edge of the seat.

"Wait, Señora! Let me help you!" He crossed back to the buggy with a speed that surprised her, then held out his arms and lifted her down. She leaned on him and he guided her to the door. Just at the threshold she felt another pain and stopped dead. He stared at her, wide-eyed, but said nothing. When it had passed they entered the windmill.

She looked around and saw a large airy space with a great mechanical apparatus stretching up to the ceiling in the center. This was evidently the pump mechanism. Along one wall was a large pile of what appeared to be folded canvas. These, she surmised, were the sails that caught the wind and worked the pump. Along another wall were a small table, two chairs, and a nearby cot. On the third wall, convenient to the table and chairs, was a small adobe fireplace with very thick walls. This would allow the occupant to prepare hot meals while minimizing the risk of fire.

Sergeant Garcia took a long look around the room then guided her to one of the chairs. " _Por favor_ , Doña Margarita, sit here for a moment." She watched as he fetched the large canvas bundles, one at a time, and opened them out on the cot. When the last one was in place he held out both hands to her: "Perhaps you will be more comfortable lying down?" Surprised at his resourcefulness, she stood and allowed him to ease her to the cot.

She sank onto the pile of canvas. _Well, it's not the best bed I've ever slept in, but it is certainly better than the floor._ "Thank you, Sergeant," she smiled up at him.

"And now, Señora, I must go and tend to the animals. I must unhitch the mule lest the wind blow the buggy over, and I must get them to as much shelter as I can find. I promise I will not be long."

The idea of being left alone was not exactly a welcome one, but she tried to relax. _It's not like I've never done this before._ She lay back and closed her eyes.

When Sergeant Garcia returned, he had a somber look on his face. After taking care of the mule and the horse and retrieving his saddlebag, he had taken a long, hard look to the west. The great brown cloud now obscured the horizon entirely. He shook his head and hurried back into the windmill. He had come to a decision.

"Señora, I am a simple soldier. I know much about patrol and much about muskets and much about horses. But I know nothing about babies. I have decided to ride into the pueblo and bring Doctor Avila back to attend you, for if something goes wrong I will be of no help to you. If I leave now and ride hard I think I will be able to bring him here in a very short time."

At first she was alarmed. Did he really mean to leave her alone here in the midst of a windstorm? But then she quickly realized that he was right. Sergeant Garcia was a good man with a good heart, but really, he knew nothing about birthing. If something did go wrong what could he do except hold her hand? So far her pains were not too close together, so she anticipated that it would be some time before the actual birth. If he was going to ride out, best that he bring Doctor Avila back, or even young Doctor Grimaldo, the new partner.

She raised herself up slightly and looked around. No need for a fire, it was very warm. She'd have to get up to tend it anyway. Then she spied an empty bucket. "Sergeant, if you could bring me some water before you go?"

"Of course, Señora." He picked up the bucket and went out to fill it. He was back in a few minutes. "The water is not the best, Señora. The wind has kicked up much dust and sand," he apologized.

"If it's wet I'm sure it will do." She tried to sound cheerful.

He looked at her, his face full of concern. "I will leave you now. I promise you on my honor as a king's officer that I will return with the doctor as soon as I can."

"Don't worry, Sergeant, I will be fine. I have every confidence in you!" He turned back toward the door. "And Sergeant," she called after him, " _Vaya con Dios!"_ She sank back onto the canvas and closed her eyes, waiting for the next pain.


	4. Whirlwind

A Friend Indeed  
4 - _Whirlwind_

 **Chapter 4: Whirlwind**

 **A/N:** _Burdo_ means "lumpy" in Spanish **.**

Garcia galloped back up the track and reached the main road in under a minute. Then he turned west. It was good going for the first three miles. But when he crested a small rise, his luck ran out and the dust storm hit him full in the face. At first he was able to ride through it by raising his left arm to shelter his eyes, squinting, and bowing his head slightly. But the howling wind only became stronger, blowing up sand that scoured his unprotected face and hand like a thousand tiny knives. He almost thought he would be able to make it through when suddenly his horse reared and tried to turn out of the wind. He struggled and, after a few moments, managed to control the animal.

But it had given him pause. If the horse bolted and he were thrown, on foot he might not be able to reach the pueblo for hours. Then what would happen to Doña Margarita and her baby? She was expecting him to return with Doctor Avila in a reasonable amount of time, although what was "reasonable" in the middle of an _El Niño_ storm was open to discussion. Forging ahead on a panicky mount did not seem like a good plan, so, blinking heavily, he took stock of the surrounding countryside as best he could and spied a grove of trees just ahead on the right. He dismounted and with some effort pulled the horse into the trees. He picked out the tree with the largest trunk and stood with his back against it, facing away from the wind. He brought his horse close directly in front of him so that the animal also benefited from the trunk's cover, and tied the reins to a low branch.

Now he realized that breathing was becoming as difficult as seeing. His hand automatically went to his neck. His bare neck. He remembered that his two bandanas were packed in his saddlebag, which was back at the windmill. Still, he had to do something. His eye fell on his shirtsleeve and he sighed. His cousin's wife had been so proud of her handiwork in making the shirt. Still, it would do him little good if choked to death on the dust. He grasped the fabric of the left sleeve near the shoulder, murmured "I am sorry, Lucia" to himself, and with one great tug tore the sleeve away from the body. He then ripped open the shoulder-to wrist seam to produce a large flat piece of linen.

He was about to wrap the whole thing around his face when he looked at his horse. "Burdo, _mi amigo_ ," this is just as hard on you as it is on me, is it not?" With that he ripped the fabric in two. The smaller piece he tied around his nose and mouth. Breathing immediately became easier. He pulled his mount's head close, tied one end of the larger piece around the horse's head at the bridle strap just above the eyes, then knotted the lower end together to loosely cover the animal's mouth. "There! You have been a faithful horse all these years. We will see this through together." Then he pulled Burdo's head down a bit and leaned forward, sheltering the animal's head with his own body.

Demetrio Lopez Garcia was about as devout as the average lancer, which was to say that he was not exactly a candidate for sainthood. But then and there he sent every prayer he knew heavenward. Then for good measure he sent them all a second time. He had no idea how long he had been standing there — ten minutes? an hour? two hours? — when he suddenly realized that the wind was no longer roaring in his ears. He stood upright and looked around. At the moment all was calm and patches of blue were peeping through the low clouds. He pulled the cloth down from his nose and mouth, then untied the piece around Burdo's head. The horse shook himself, then blew hard out his nostrils.

"Well, my friend, we both seem to be alive and unharmed. Let us hurry and bring Doctor Avila." And he mounted up and headed toward Los Angeles at a gallop.

A short time later as residents of the pueblo were cleaning up after the storm, they were treated to an amazing sight. Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, windblown, dirty, in civilian clothes, and missing one shirt sleeve, road into the plaza and headed not for the _cuartel_ but for Doctor Avila's house. He dismounted faster than anyone had ever seen and began to pound on the doctor's door.

"Doctor! Doctor! Doctor!" he shouted, all the while pounding on the door as though he would break it down. A moment later the face of Eduardo Avila appeared.

"Sergeant Garcia?" he asked, looking his visitor up and down and hardly believing his eyes.

"You must come immediately. Señora De la Vega is having her baby at Don Alfredo Milanes' windmill and — "

"Don Alfredo's windmill! Whatever is she doing there? And why do you look like _that_?"

"Well, the cook ran out of flour and — "

"Flour?!"

"Never mind, I will explain on the way. Have your horse saddled at once. I must go to the inn and find someone to inform the De la Vega hacienda!"

Doctor Avila watched the lancer stride away across the plaza, slightly dumbfounded. He had never before seen Garcia give orders with such authority. Well, windmill or not, if Doña Margarita really was having her baby he had better attend her. He went inside to fetch his bag and have a servant saddle his horse.

Innkeeper Pacheco and his customers were no less surprised by Garcia's appearance when he burst through the door and announced at the top of his lungs: "Doña Margarita De la Vega is having her baby at Señor Milanes mill. I need a man to ride to the De la Vega _hacienda_ and inform them what is happening." It was an indication of the pueblo's respect for the De la Vega family that most of the men stood up.

"Who do you want to go?" asked the innkeeper.

The sergeant briefly surveyed the crowd. Then his gaze settled on one man. "Federico, you have a very fast horse. You go. Now!" he barked. The man picked up his hat and hurried out.

"But comandante," began Señor Pacheco, "why is she having a baby at a windmill. And why," he continued, looking Garcia up and down much as the doctor had, "do you look like _that_?"

"Never mind, I must be off with the doctor," he replied in a semi-roar as he turned back out to the plaza. By the time he had crossed to the house, Doctor Avila was waiting for him.

"Sergeant, you look very weary. Surely there is someone else who can guide me out to this windmill?"

"No, doctor. I, Demetrio Lopez Garcia, comandante of the Pueblo of Los Angeles, promised Doña Margarita that I would bring you to her. And I, Demetrio Lopez Garcia, will keep my promise!" he declared. "Now let us be off!" And with that they spurred their horses and headed out of the pueblo.


	5. Arrival

A Friend Indeed  
5 - _Arrival_

 **Chapter 5: Arrival**

The windmill was just as Garcia had left it. He and Doctor Avila dismounted and hurried up to the door. The lancer held his breath and pushed it open. Much to his relief Margarita de la Vega looked up from her makeshift bed, an expression of relief on her face. Doctor Avila strode across the floor, set down his bag, and greeted her calmly: "Buenos tardes, Señora. How are things going?"

"It'll come soon, I think," she murmured, letting out a deep breath. "The pains are very close together now."

"As you are very experienced in this matter I am sure you are correct," he declared pleasantly, wanting to sooth her. "Now, let me see…" He gently felt her belly.

Sergeant Garcia turned away, then picked up his saddlebag and moved it as far away from the cot as possible. While he loved babies, the process of childbirth was an entirely different matter. He began undoing the leather ties and when the saddlebag was fully open he pulled out his things by great handfuls, dropping them here and there on the floor: his other new shirt, two old shirts, his extra _pantalones_ , his uniform — he had planned to make a grand dignified return to the cuartel, but that was not to be — and finally, a clean bandana.

He noticed that the water bucket was almost empty so he took it outside to the stream. As he waited for the bucket to fill up, he stepped away from the water. He bent over and ran his hand back and forth through his hair. A small cloud of dust rose, and a quantity of sand fell to the earth. Back inside, he dipped the bandana into the water and began to clean his face and his bare arm. The voice of Doctor Avila interrupted him.

"Sergeant, come here," called the doctor. "You must help me!"

Garcia, startled and wide-eyed, pointed at his chest. "Help you? Me?"

There was a slight tinge of annoyance in the doctor's reply: "Do you see another sergeant anywhere in this room?"

The Comandante of the Pueblo de Los Angeles looked hopefully to his left, then hopefully to his right, then for good measure he looked up into the windmill's rafters. "Er, no doctor…"

"Then come here at once! It is time!"

The lancer stood rooted to the floor. "But I know nothing of babies! Couldn't I just go and tend the horses — please?!"

"You do not have to _know_ anything. You just have to do as I tell you. Now come over here!"

Still his feet refused to move. Then he remembered his oath. He had sworn to protect and serve the citizens of the pueblo. He also suddenly remembered his rather loud earlier declaration in front of Doctor Avila and several bystanders: _I, Demetrio Lopez Garcia, comandante of the Pueblo of Los Angeles, promised Doña Margarita that I would bring you to her. And I, Demetrio Lopez Garcia, will keep my promise!_ He suddenly found his courage. So be it. If protecting and serving Doña Margarita meant helping her baby to be born, than that is what he must crossed the roomto the cot.

"This is a simple matter," began the doctor. "First we slide Doña Margarita down to the edge of the cot. Then we raise her to a near-sitting position."

Garcia felt relief. This was indeed a simple matter. "Is that all?" he asked hopefully when they had accomplished the move.

"Not quite," said the doctor, eyeing the lancer's ample girth. "Normally we prop a woman up on pillows to keep her upright. But here we have no pillows. Instead we have you. So you must sit behind her and support her while the baby comes."

Garcia blanched and his eyes grew wide. He was being asked to physically hold a married woman, the wife of his dearest friend Don Diego, at such a delicate moment? Understanding his turmoil, Margarita half-turned and, between labored breaths, said: "Don't worry, Sergeant. I won't say a word to Diego." Still somewhat hesitant but with the words "protect and serve" echoing over and over in his mind, he slid his bulk behind her on the cot and let her lean back onto him.

He was gently holding her elbows with his hands when a particularly strong labor pain struck her and she gasped. Without thinking, he extended his right arm and entwined the fingers of his right hand with hers. She was squeezing so hard he almost cried out. Yet he did not, and when the pain passed and she relaxed he kept his hold on her hand. "You are doing fine," he said softly. Doctor Avila looked at him and nodded.

After what seemed — at least to him — forever, Doctor Avila looked up from the foot of the cot and said, "It is time!" Margarita pushed with all her strength, let out a loud cry, and suddenly the doctor stood up holding a red, wet, crying child. "You have yet another son, Señora!"

"Another boy!" She smiled with relief and held out her arms for her newborn.

"We must find something to wrap him in. Sergeant, can you perhaps find a towel or small blanket?"

Garcia gently stood up and eased Margarita down onto the cot. He looked across the room at his belongings scattered over the floor. The obvious choice was the second new shirt that his cousin's wife had made for him. He sighed as he started walking toward it. He had so wanted to keep it fresh and clean for as long as possible. Then his eye fell on his blue uniform blouse. Given his own girth, it was certainly large enough. It was old and worn and much mended, but it was, he also realized, incredibly soft. He picked it up and held it out to the doctor: "Perhaps this?"

"Excellent, sergeant!" He held out the garment and Doctor Avila took it and wrapped the baby in it. Then he handed the newborn to his mother. "Now, sergeant, _por favor_ , if you will bring in another bucket of water, I need to wash." Garcia didn't need to be asked twice. But as he returned to the windmill door he thought he heard a wagon or carriage approaching.

"I think someone from the hacienda may be coming," he announced.

Margarita looked from her tiny son to the officer. "Would you like to hold him?" She held out her baby.

"Me?"

"Yes. You helped bring him. Don't worry, I'm sure you won't drop him."

He hesitated, but encouraged by the confidence in her voice, he gently took the baby in his arms. The child looked up at him and smiled. "Look, he is smiling! He likes me!"

At that moment the De la Vega wagon pulled up. A few seconds later the door burst open and in rushed Cresencia followed by Buena and another woman servant.

"Señora! Señora, how is it with you?!" she cried. She rushed toward the cot but stopped dead when she saw that Garcia was holding a baby. "Oh! I am so sorry! We got here as soon as we could. It took some time to collect everything and — "

"Don't be concerned, please. I'm fine. I've done this before, Doctor Avila is very skillful, and Sergeant Garcia is an excellent midwife!" She was smiling broadly.

"Sergeant Gar — " she turned and looked him up and down and her face clouded over. "What are you doing holding the baby? And why do you look like _that_?"

"It's all right, Cresencia, I gave him the baby. It's the least he deserves for all of his help." She looked at him and then at Cresencia's scowl and then back to him. "But perhaps you'd better give him back."

Garcia was happy to do so. Buena appeared now with an armful of pillows, and she and Juana settled Margarita and the baby more comfortably on the cot. Cresencia surveyed the room and planned the cleanup. Doctor Avila, who had finished washing up and was now rolling down his sleeves, said to her, "You should get them to the hacienda as gently as possible. Do not under any circumstances hurry and try to drive as smoothly as possible. The delivery was quite normal and the Señora is fine, but she should not be jostled greatly. I am sure you understand."

"Of course, doctor," replied the housekeeper. Benito and Pablo are coming with a litter and it must travel slowly. But the distance to the hacienda is not great and I believe we will be able to have them home before nightfall."

"Then I can be on my way," he said, slipping into his jacket and heading for the door. "Señora, I will call on you and the little one tomorrow afternoon. Sleep as much as you can this evening. And congratulations on your new son."

The women began busying themselves with necessary chores. Suddenly Cresencia noticed the sergeant standing in the middle or the room with nothing to do. "You! Pick up your things and go! There is nothing for you to do here!" She gave him a not-too-gentle push toward the pile of his belongings on the floor. Garcia's face fell. After all he had done he had been summarily dismissed. He ambled over to the pile and began re-packing his saddlebag. Then he slung it over his shoulder and left the windmill. Outside he tied the bag onto Burdo's saddle, and, with a heavy sigh, resumed his solitary journey back to the pueblo.


	6. Afterward

A Friend Indeed  
6 - _Afterward_

 **Chapter 6: Afterward**

 **A/N:** _Padrino_ means "godfather" in Spanish.

The next day, just after mid-morning, Don Alejandro and Don Diego returned to the _hacienda_. They dismounted at the gate and turned their horses over to the two servants who had come out to greet them. Still chatting about the latest goings-on in San Pedro, they entered the patio together. Don Alejandro headed for his study to put away the paperwork from the shipment of hides. Diego started up the staircase, intending to change out of his traveling suit and freshen up. As he reached the fourth step, he called out to Juana who was crossing the patio: "Where is my wife?" The young woman looked up at him with a twinkle in her eye and an expression that seemed to be somewhere between a broad smile and an outright giggle. "She is, uh, resting in your room, patrón," she declared, then hurried on her way. Diego's gaze followed her for a moment, a slight frown creasing his brow. He wondered why the idea of Margarita resting should be amusing. Then he shook his head and continued up the steps, thinking: _Women, eh?_

When he reached the door of their room he knocked softly and slowly opened the door. He saw his wife sitting up in their bed, an open book face down on the coverlet beside her. She looked up at him and held out both her hands in greeting: "Welcome back, _mi corazón_!" As he crossed the room to her, out of habit he glanced down at the cradle which had been put in readiness for the coming child a week or so before he and his father had left. Suddenly he did a double-take — and stopped dead in his tracks. The cradle was occupied! By a baby! A tiny, pink, sleeping baby! He looked from the infant to Margarita then back to the infant, then back to Margarita. "Meet our new son," she announced, laughing softly.

" _Querida_! What has happened here?" And she told him.

Three days after _Navidad_ , Don Diego rode into Los Angeles. After tying up his horse at the inn, he scanned he plaza and saw the _comandante_ crossing to the _cuartel_. "Sergeant Garcia!" he cried. "Come and join me for a glass of wine!"

Garcia looked up at the sound of his name. Seeing his old friend, he smiled and immediately changed direction. " _Buenos dias_ , Don Diego." Inside the inn the two men settled at a table. At Don Diego's nod, Señor Pacheco brought a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I hope your _Navidad_ was a blessed one," began the lancer.

"Indeed it was, Sergeant. _Navidad_ is especially beautiful when there is a new baby in the home!" He filled their glasses.

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but — was the infant early? Doña Margarita seemed very surprised at his coming."

"No, sergeant," replied the happy father with a smile. "Even though she is very experienced in these matters, it seems she was simply wrong about her dates. Doctor Avila has assured us that boy is full term and healthy."

"And Doña Margarita is recovering?" Garcia asked, raising his glass.

"She is very well indeed, and she sends you her regards. She is very grateful for all of your help at our son's birth." Diego picked up his glass and took a sip. "Which reminds me of the reason I came to speak with you today. We have something of a problem regarding our new son, and we thought that you, as a man of the world, might be able to help us with it."

"Me, Don Diego?" The lancer was flattered. "Well, of course I would be happy to place my great worldly experience at your service," he beamed, sitting up straighter.

"Well, here is the issue. When our first boy was born, we naturally named him after my father and Margarita's father."

"Yes, I remember. You called him 'Alejandro Roberto'. "

"Then when our second son was born, we named him directly after Margarita's father."

"Yes, your second is 'Roberto Diego'."

"Correct. When the third son came along, we named him after my uncle, using my middle name as well: 'Estevan Jose'."

"Well, yes, but so far I do not see a problem with any of this, Don Diego."

"I am just coming to that, Sergeant. Now we have a fourth son. But neither Margarita nor I have a brother. Margarita no longer feels especially close to her uncle back in the United States, so we have run out of family to name him after and we are not sure what to do!" explained Diego, his face now taking on a merry expression that went totally unnoticed by his companion.

"Ah, yes. Now I see!" Garcia took another gulp of his wine. His brows furrowed as he began to think of suitable possibilities for the infant's name. "What about the governor? I am sure he would be pleased to lend his name to your child."

"We have talked about that, but we do not know Governor Echeandía as well as we once knew Governor De Solá so we are not really comfortable with that. We wish to name him after someone we have known well and for a long time."

"That is understandable." The sergeant's brows furrowed again as he raised his glass to his lips and took another gulp. "What about innkeeper Pacheco? You have known him since you were a child."

"Perhaps. But the first problem is that no one seems to know Señor Pacheco's given name. Do you know it?"

The sergeant's face registered surprise. "Er, why, no! Now that I think about it, I do not."

"Neither do I, nor my father, or anyone else whom I have asked. In addition, we were thinking more of someone who has had a position of respect and authority in the pueblo," Diego explained, eyeing the lancer over the rim of his glass and emphasizing the word "authority".

Garcia sighed and set himself to thinking yet again. After a moment his head popped up. "What about Doctor Avila? He brought the little one into the world."

"We already thought of that. But since he has been the pueblo's doctor for a very long time there are already half-a dozen boys in the pueblo named after him. We were hoping for something more or less unique."

Garcia set down his glass, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "I am very sorry, Don Diego. I can think of no one else who would deserve this honor."

Diego now picked up the wine bottle and refilled their glasses, a barely-suppressed smile on his lips. "Well, _Comandante_ , Margarita and I did think of one other possibility."

" _Sí_?" Garcia began taking another gulp of wine.

"We thought we might name him 'Demetrio'. "

The lancer began coughing and choking on his wine. "But…but…but…" he sputtered, poking himself in the chest at each 'but', " _My_ name is Demetrio!"

"Why so it is!" cried Diego with feigned surprise. "And if you do not object, we want you to stand as his _padrino_ as well!"

At last Garcia was able to breathe and speak normally. "Don Diego, are you sure? I am but a simple soldier. Would you not want someone of more exalted stature for your son's godfather?"

Diego leaned back in his chair and regarded the sergeant with a look of genuine warmth. "Sergeant Garcia, yes, you are a simple soldier. But you are also honest and loyal and a true friend. Margarita and I cannot ask for more in a person whom we would trust to look after our son."

The soldier's face now lit up with a smile than ran from ear to ear. "I am honored, Don Diego." Then his look became soft and wistful: "This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me — I think."

Diego smiled and saluted with his glass. "Oh, and there is one more thing. Soon you must visit Pedro Llamas, the tailor. He will measure you for a brand new uniform. And also for two additional shirts to replace the one you used to protect yourself during the dust storm."

Garcia's eyes grew wide again. "New uniform! _Gracias_ , Don Diego. This is very very generous of you!"

"Well, we of course want you looking your best at the christening. And since your current uniform is somewhat, shall we say 'overworn', we are happy to provide you with a new one."

" _Sí_ , it is much worn," said the lancer, running his hand up and down the left sleeve. "But it is also very soft, and I did not mind at all putting it to good use for your son." He paused a moment. "I will never forget the way he smiled at me when we wrapped him in it…"

"Then it is all settled," declared Diego as he rose to leave. "I will inform the padre that you have agreed to stand as his _padrino_ , and when we have chosen the exact date I will inform you. _Buenos tardes_ , Sergeant."

" _Buenos tardes_ , Don Diego," replied Garcia, still rubbing the sleeve, a gentle smile on his face.

Not long after he had left the pueblo behind him, a strange thought popped into Diego's mind. He heard again the voice of the old gypsy woman: _And the next child, a boy, you will name for a soldier._ *He shook his head. He certainly did not believe that anyone could actually see the future.

But old Florica _was_ a gypsy _._

And her prediction _had_ come true _._

Even Zorro could not explain that one.

 **_ FIN _**

* See _Hero's Heartache_.


End file.
